


you've got to get creative

by norgbelulah



Series: The Continuing Adventures of Deputy Tim and TJ Hammond, the son of two Presidents [2]
Category: Justified, Political Animals
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's do something ridiculous," he says.  "This is the most boring yet incredibly stressful thing I have ever fucking done, Tim.  Please, let's do something so so stupid right now."</p><p>Tim stand and takes the bottle from him and his empty glass.  "Something sexual?" </p><p>or, </p><p>in which Tim and TJ don't want to search for houses anymore and go on a journey of sexual discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tim and TJ decide to do something stupid

**Author's Note:**

> This fic serves as the possible first in a series of shorter codas to the original really long, epic fic (this is now finished btw!).
> 
> This fic also contains way more sexual content than most of the sex scenes I've written with these two characters previously. Nothing crazy happens, but there's an element of Dom/sub play with fairly inexperienced characters, so if that doesn't float your boat, consider yourself warned. There is also an element of role-play for two other characters who have a bit of a fraught history. I can't think of anything else within that might be triggering, but please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Baby this is awful," TJ says. He's looking out over the sea of apartment listings covering the coffee table and half the floor in the town house's living room. One of his mother's assistants had dropped off the stack for them earlier in the day. They've got TJ's laptop pulled up to zillow.com sitting on the recliner. "Do you think maybe she doesn't want us to move out at all?"

Tim smiles. He thinks it's probably a combination of that and her desire for them to have as much help, which equals information in her mind, as possible. "I don't really think it matters what she wants," he says carefully. "We need our own space, right?"

TJ nods. They've talked about this quite a lot. TJ has grown used to being in the family's town home and he's nervous to leave his grandmother by herself, but it's become pretty awkward, conducting the transition of their relationship from long distance to single-room closeness in a house that doesn't feel like it's really theirs.

Tim needs his own space. He wants space for just the two of them.

But house-hunting in DC is literally the worst thing. God, they both hate it so much. They're never going to get anywhere.

Tim can tell TJ desperately wants to set it aside for now. They've been slowly drinking a nice bottle of scotch TJ fished from the liquor cabinet, but now he goes over and retrieves a half-empty handle of Jack Daniels. He pours a shot into his empty scotch glass and downs it quickly, his eyes steady on Tim's. "Let's do something ridiculous," he says. "This is the most boring yet incredibly stressful thing I have ever fucking done, Tim. Please, let's do something so so stupid right now."

Tim stand and takes the bottle from him and his empty glass. "Something sexual?" he asks as he pours his own shot.

TJ snorts as Tim takes it. "If you want. I didn't have anything in particular in mind."

"You're usually pretty creative about the stupid shit," Tim says. He pours another shot, but doesn't hand it to TJ right away.

"This fucking insane process has drained all my creativity, baby. You have to help me out here." He snatches the glass, but only drinks half the liquor. He's learned a bit of self-preservation since they've been together at least.

Tim has the worst idea and then says, "Sweetheart, I have the worst idea ever. I shouldn't even tell you. Oh my God."

TJ gives him a look. "Now you have to." He steps into Tim's space, pulls him close.

Tim closes his eyes. He'd been sort of missing Kentucky anyway. "You want to role-play a little?"

"Raylan and his unresolved sexual tension friend?" TJ asks. Tim opens his eyes and watches his eyes dance delightedly. "Really?"

"His name is Boyd Crowder," Tim says smiling at TJ excitement. "He owns a bar and he deals heroin."

"Allegedly, right?" 

Tim sighs. He should probably try to get into character for this or it won't be any fun at all. "Yes," he says, pretty sure he's never heard Boyd Crowder say "yeah," in his life--at least not to Raylan. "Allegedly deals heroin. I'll be him. You're Raylan."

TJ's eyes grow round. He lifts a hand to the top of his head. "But I don't have a hat!"

"Sweetheart--"

TJ turns and goes for the stairs, throwing one arm back in a "stay there" gesture. "I think I have something. Just wait a minute." Tim can hear his feet pound down the hallway upstairs to their room and his closet full of junk.

Tim decides to set the scene while he waits. He clears the papers to one side of the table and sets the two glasses and the Jack artfully on the other side. He closes the laptop--wondering briefly why the hell he's never seen a personal computer in Harlan County--and sets it aside.

He sits on the couch, making himself comfortable in a way that he thinks a man secure in his own domain might, and watches TJ thump down the stairs, a straw farmer's hat stuck on his head.

Tim watches him, warily. "Raylan," he says, speaking it the way he's heard Boyd do at least five or six times now, while trying not to be intensely self-conscious. "How can I be of assistance to the Marshal Service today?"

TJ's eyes widen and he slows on the stairs. "Boyd," he says, injecting the laconic tone Raylan nearly always holds in his words. TJ's a pretty good actor and he's doing a decent impression, but he's smiling too wide.

"Don't smile," Tim says, dropping his really terrible Harlan accent. "You're not happy to see me. You totally hate asking him for anything. You have way too many feelings about everything that has to do with him and you think all of them are angry."

TJ's stopped on the bottom stair. His hands are on his hips, in a gesture too childishly impatient to be quite Raylan. "But they're not?"

"You think I would have suggested this if they were?"

He frowns. "That's pretty dense on his part."

"I think it's a survival mechanism."

TJ huffs. "Don't depress me. I thought this was supposed to be fun."

"I thought it was supposed to be sexy?"

"Can we keep going and see if it's both?"

Tim dips his head leaning further back into the sofa and gives him a steamy look. "What can I help you with, Raylan?" he asks.

"Oh," TJ says and takes a moment to cant his hips to the right and set his right hand on his belt. "Um, hmm, ah--"

"Do you need some information from me?"

"Yes," TJ says, beaming again and then quickly hiding the expression behind a stern gaze and heavy, angry brows. "I hate being in my hometown, Boyd Crowder, but you have information I need. So I need..." he hesitates and Tim has to suppress his own smile, wondering how much TJ remembers about the kind of information a Marshal might actually need from a criminal informant. "...you to tell me if you know about a... bail-jumper." He pauses again then adds, "Uh, hiding here in Harlan."

Tim almost tells him, "good job." Instead he says, "Well, Raylan, I am always happy to help a friend in need." He puts emphasis on 'friend' and, wonderfully, TJ picks up on it.

"You and me, Boyd? We ain't friends," he says walking forward with a particular sway to his hips. He adjusts his hat and Tim actually gets hard. He'd been wondering if he was going to, this entire situation is so fucking dumb.

"Is that so, Raylan?" Tim asks quietly, shifting his hips.

He sees TJ notice and smirk, perfectly Raylan. "Yeah," he replies quietly, looking right at Tim's crotch. "Anything but."

Thinking about how this might actually go down for real, Tim decides it's Boyd who would put a card down on the table first. "Why do you think it is that we never fucked, Raylan?"

TJ raises his brows, as if asking, "You expect me to know?"

"Just give me a theory," Tim prods. He slides his hand to the inside of his thigh. It's a vulgar gesture, one that Boyd would never actually do if he were talking to Raylan about a bail-jumper, but this is porn-style Raylan and Boyd and Tim wants to be harder.

TJ shifts his weight impatiently--Tim can't tell if it's at him for real or for fake--and replies, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Boyd. Why would we have done that?"

Tim lets himself smile now, and he keeps it superior, thinking of Crowder's impossibly white teeth. He shifts, leaning forward, elbows on knees. He brings his hands together, palm to palm. "Because you loved me a hell of a lot back then, son."

TJ's eyes are dancing, but he still has his brows drawn down, as if he's confused and pissed about it. Tim thinks all he needs is that tiny mouth thing Raylan does when he's super pissed--mostly at Crowder. "Well, I think you're only askin' to rile me up some. Doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference now, does it, Boyd?" Then he gives Tim a very TJ impatient look and spreads his hands.

Tim shakes his head. This is a process. "I think it might at that, Raylan," he replies.

But TJ's not having it. He gets up in Tim's face and pushes his back against the couch, climbing up and into his lap. He says, breathlessly, like it was a difficult action, fraught, and Tim's really fucking hard now. "You sure do say my name quite a bit, Boyd. That because you still love me after all this time?"

Tim glares, trying to channel a Crowder caught by surprise. "Who said anything about me ever loving you?" The he leans forward and breathes in TJ's ear, "Call me a liar."

"You're a goddamned liar," TJ says drawing his fingers and palm across Tim's face. "Fuck you," he hisses and mashes their lips together.

They do that for a while, and when they break apart, Tim says, "I'll never be certain if it was love, Raylan, but you surely did make my dick hard, back in the day. And, as ample evidence suggests, things haven't really ch--"

The look on TJ's face stops him mid-sentence.

"Are you high right now? What is wrong with you?" he asks, clearly stepping out of the fantasy.

Tim huffs, really hard now and ready to go, maybe to move up to their bedroom. "This is how he talks, okay?"

TJ raises his brows. "No it isn't."

"Excuse me?"

"Tim, no one talks like that. Did you spend the whole time we were making out composing that sonnet?"

Tim wiggles under TJ's weight, grumpy now. "It's hard enough trying to do Crowder, okay? Don't second guess me here. He does too talk like that."

TJ makes a face and says, "Well it's not really all that sexy."

Tim flushes. And tips his forehead forward to hit TJ's collarbone. "That's because I'm doing it wrong."

TJ gives him a look, full of amusement and a certain suspicion. "Do you have a crush on both of these men?"

Tim straightens, still blushing and retorts, "The word you're looking for is boner. I have a serious hard on for Raylan's legs and Crowder's silver fucking tongue."

"Oh," TJ says with a smile. "My mistake, then."

"Are we doing this or not?"

TJ answers by kissing him, pretty enthusiastically. Tim thinks of something then that he used to wonder about, whenever Crowder and Raylan tangled. He draws TJ's hand down to rest on his chest. "Here," he says. "This is where he shot him." He doesn't feel right actually filling the role here. It's too much.

TJ blinks at Tim. He's not smiling anymore. "Don't fuck with me," he says.

"I'm not."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that then," TJ replies. He adjusts the hat and tries for Raylan's wry smile. He does a pretty good job. "What if it was Raylan Givens in Marshal Gutterson's lap?" He asks and makes a mock-surprised face when Tim's hips jerk upwards. 

Tim is so red, he can't quite look at him anymore, but he doesn't want to stop. TJ leans forward and speaks in his ear, asking in a sweet tone, full of an acceptance Tim never thought he could ever have, "Is it a daddy thing? We can do that, babe."

Tim shakes his head. It's not quite that. 

"He just..." Tim stumbles. "He always knows what to do."

"And you don't?" There's real interest in TJ's question, a desire to understand.

"I don't want to. I don't want to worry sometimes. Don't want to think. I want--"

TJ pulls his head up gently, so they're looking right at each other. "Tell me what you want, Tim," he says. He gets it.

"I want someone to call me good." 

TJ blinks. "Okay," he says. "That's not difficult."

Tim frowns. That's not all of it though. "It's more complicated..." he starts to say.

"Of course it is. It's a power thing, I can tell that much," TJ says, still smiling. "I love you, baby. If you need something, I'm gonna give it to you. And anyway," he smirks, "With my parents, you think I can't go on a power trip sometimes?"

And that's when they hear a cough from the direction of the kitchen. A look of dawning horror passes over TJ's face when he looks up and says, "Jesus, Dad, how long have you been standing there?"

Tim thinks he's having a stroke. He can't move. His heart is beating like crazy, but he's frozen with TJ in his lap.

"Only long enough to hear your mother and I get pulled into your bedroom conversation, son. Which I think you might want to keep to the actual bedroom from now on, huh?"

"We live here, Dad," TJ replies in the same tone he might have as a teenager. "You don't."

"I was just leaving," Former President Bud Hammond says. "Notice I didn't ask about the hat."

"You better not have," TJ calls to his father's back. Then he puts his hands on Tim's face. "Dad! You broke him. Baby? Tim, come on." 

He's sort of laughing now and it's only that that gets Tim to blink and say hoarsely, "That wasn't fucking funny, TJ."

"It kind of was," TJ says, really laughing. "He didn't hear anything."

Tim shakes his head, but TJ steadies him again. He looks down at Tim and his fingers grip just a little harder into Tim's skin. His eyes are clear when he says, "Go upstairs and take off your clothes." Tim takes a sharp breath and TJ grins, pleased with himself. "Wait for me on the bed."

"Yeah," Tim breathes. "Yeah. Okay."


	2. TJ and Tim follow through spectacularly

TJ watches his delectably tousled boyfriend sort of glide, rather than climb, up the stairs at his direction. Tim looks almost dazed, his eyes trained straight ahead, his hand just brushing the banister.

TJ takes a breath and realizes he has absolutely no idea what he's doing.

"Shit," he says as he pulls off his straw hat--leftover from a Halloween costume five years ago--and tosses it on the sofa. He rubs at his eyes. He wonders now where all his big talk in Tim's lap had come from and then gone to. What the fuck was he thinking?

Sure, he's had his fair share of rough sex. He's been in situations where it was clear his partner wanted to dominate, and he was cool with letting that happen. But he's never purposefully ordered anyone around in bed. And he's not entirely sure if that's what Tim even wants, or really needs.

He thinks about what Tim said. He doesn't want to think about things. He doesn't want to decide.

Well, TJ can decide. He doesn't mind doing that.

It just seems like a lot--deciding what Tim wants. What he needs.

TJ blows out a breath, a long sigh. He sets his shoulders, wanting to look confident. Cool and commanding. He thinks absurdly of his mother and her game face. He doesn't want to intimidate. He just wants to make Tim see... that he can handle this. That he can take care of it. Of everything. For Tim.

At least for right now.

He smiles and climbs the stairs.

Tim is totally naked on the bed, which TJ stupidly finds surprising. Duh, he's naked on the bed. That's what TJ told him to do. 

He doesn't let his surprise show though. He smiles, gratefully. Honestly, he's pleased Tim remembers what he said even if TJ had momentarily forgotten. He forces himself to be more mindful of what he's saying and of what he's asking.

Despite TJ's calm smile, Tim looks terrified. He was clearly going for a casual position, laid back with his arms stretched back and his elbows propping him up, but his whole body is tense. His eyes are wide and his mouth is set in an almost angry pout that TJ is pretty sure he's unaware he's making.

TJ smiles wider. He approaches Tim slowly, watching his lips part expectantly, something on the tip of his tongue.

"Hush now," TJ says softly. Tim's mouth snaps shut. TJ smiles again. "Very good."

He sees Tim relax, minutely, even as his cock visibly stiffens and his hips jerk. He bites back a moan.

TJ grins and sets his hands on his hips. Weirdly, still feeling a bit like Raylan fucking Givens. "Oh, you can makes noises, baby. I wanna hear what you like, okay?"

Tim's cock is definitely perking up. He looks down at it, somehow mortified.

"It's all right, Tim," TJ says, looking right into his eyes. He steps to the foot of the bed and wraps his fingers around Tim's left ankle. For a moment he thinks Tim's going to jerk away. When he doesn't, TJ says, "Tell me you understand that all of this is okay."

Tim blinks. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. "I--Yeah."

"Yes, what?" TJ doesn't think that's enough. He feels a need for, formality here. It's instinctual and he goes with it.

Tim frowns now. "Yes, this is okay," he says slowly. 

TJ arches a brow. He's not quite sure if--

"I'm not going to call you 'sir,' TJ." Tim's face is mutinous.

TJ takes his hand off Tim's ankle. 

It was a movement born of frustration, thoughtless. He sees Tim's reaction--the tension back in his back and legs, the jutting of his jaw, almost like he'd experienced a small physical pain--and isn't entirely sure Tim's even aware of it.

"Okay," TJ says shakily. He takes a breath and says, "okay," again. And leans forward, wrapping his fingers around both of Tim's ankles. Tim's muscles relax almost immediately.

TJ smiles. His keeps his tone even, not quite neutral, but soothing and low. "This is what's going to happen, baby. When I ask you a question or tell you to speak, you'll answer like this, 'Yes, TJ,' or 'No, TJ' or 'Please, TJ.' If I tell you to do something you don't feel comfortable with you can say 'wait, TJ' and we'll talk about it or you can say, 'stop' and we'll be done. We're not going to need a safe word. It won't be necessary. Understand?"

Tim's eyes are wide and he's completely hard now. He nods, but doesn't speak.

TJ squeezes his ankles. Just gently.

"Yes, TJ," Tim breathes.

"Good, Tim." Tim groans. "Very Good."

TJ wants to tell Tim he loves him, but it doesn't seem right in the moment. This whole thing, it isn't quite about love. The love is still there, of course, but it seems to be more about need, different from, and outside of, what they normally do, what they normally are.

It's really exciting.

TJ grins wickedly and Tim's eyes widen. TJ climbs on the bed, taking care to move slowly, sensually. He doesn't take his eyes off his man.

Tim instinctively shifts, attempting to slide up the bed to give TJ more room. But TJ tightens his grip on Tim's ankles again and he stills right away. 

"Did I tell you to move?"

Tim swallows. "No, TJ," he replies.

"That's right." He loosens his fingers and opens his palms across the soft hair on Tim's calves. Tim shivers like a skittish horse and TJ makes soothing noises. His erection must be painful now. TJ's own cock is throbbing, crushed in the folds of his jeans as he's kneeling on the mattress, his back bent over his knees. He says, "Raise your arms, Tim." When Tim complies, he adds, "Now slide up the bed until you can reach the headboard. Okay, now grab it." As Tim's fingers close around the smooth wood he says, "That's so good, Tim."

Tim's breath hitches.

"Don't let go until I tell you."

"Yes, TJ," Tim pretty much moans.

TJ's cock gives a jerk then and he gasps tightly. He pulls off his shirt and throws it to the floor. He unzips his jeans and groans at the easing of the pressure. He pulls his aching cock out of his pants and says, “Look at this, baby. Look at what you do to me. God, you’re so pretty, Tim. You’re so good for me.”

Tim’s mouth falls open. He blinks slowly, his gaze caught by TJ’s raging hard on. “Fuck,” he breathes.

“Fuck, yeah,” TJ says, almost laughing. He slips out of his pants and briefs too. It’s awkward because he’s still crouched on the bed, but he doesn’t let himself get self-conscious. Tim watches him like he’s having a hard time understanding what he’s looking at, but he fucking loves it anyway. And he doesn’t move. TJ knows it’s because he told him not to.

Jesus, he thinks he’s going to come any second.

He maneuvers himself further between Tim’s legs, spreading them a little, so he can reach all the way up to Tim’s wrists.

“Look at this,” he murmurs. Tim’s eyes lift automatically. “You’re just holding on, huh? Just because I said.”

Tim moans again, wordless now, throwing his head back. His cock is leaking, straining right up to his stomach.

“I bet it’s not easy,” TJ says softly. He draws his hands, not teasingly, more reverently, down Tim’s body. From his raised arms to his exposed neck, his heaving chest and down his abdomen to his trembling legs. “Bet your arms hurt now. I bet it burns, huh?”

He waits until Tim remembers. “Yes, TJ,” he bites out.

“But it feels good. Don’t answer. I know it does. Because I told you, Tim. And you don’t have to do anything but listen to me right now.”

“Yes,” he groans. “Yes, TJ.”

TJ touches Tim’s arms again. He caresses them.

"I bet it would be easier if you didn’t have to hold on,” he muses, eyes widening. That would be like… like bondage. Ropes and cuffs. Shit like that. Was TJ into that? Was Tim? 

He leans forward, moving his face close to Tim’s, holding his body about a foot above Tim’s glistening form. He can feel the heat radiating off his man. How hot he is. How much he loves this.

“Would you like to be tied up sometime, baby?" TJ whispers.

Tim’s head jerks up. "I-I don't know."

TJ gives him a hard look. "Don't you?"

Tim closes his eyes, his breath coming faster.

"Look at me." TJ leans his weight on one arms and uses the other to grab Tim’s chin. "And answer the question."

"I think so. Yes, TJ. I'd like that." His pupils are blown wide and there's so little inflection to his tone that TJ peers at him. 

"Don't just say that because you think I want to hear it, Timmy."

Tim shakes his head, but his gaze still seems distant. "I'm not, I--I don't know if I'll like it. But I want to try it, I-I feel so weird right now--

TJ freezes. "Weird good or weird bad?"

"Good," Tim says, staring up at TJ and smiling. He's so beautiful. "So good, TJ."

TJ blinks and almost asks him how he wants to come, but he stops himself, considering. It seems like too much to just do something to Tim, but he knows Tim said he doesn't want to think about things. And that's the whole point right now, isn't it? 

TJ licks his lips, thinking. And the whole time Tim's just looking up at him and smiling. His hands must be getting tired, but he's not really showing any signs of strain. He hasn't even shifted. He seems… contented.

Finally, TJ settles, straightening his shoulders, and putting certainty in his voice. "Tim, I'm going to ask you a question in a moment. Don't think about it. Don't even blink. Just answer. And whatever you say will be fine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, TJ," Tim says.

"I'm going to make you come," TJ says. "There's no question about that. Now, tell me, do you want it to be my hands or yours?”

“Yours, TJ,” Tim breathes. No hesitation.

“Good, baby. One more question. Do you want my hands on your cock or in your ass?”

“Inside,” Tim cries, straining again, his hips jerking upwards. TJ lays his hands across Tim’s pelvis, steadying, soothing. “Please, TJ,” Tim begs. “Please.”

TJ sits up, coming to his knees again between Tim’s splayed legs, drawing his hands down Tim’s body all the way. “Of course, baby,” he says. “You’ve been so good. I’m going to give you what you need.”

“Please,” Tim says again, maybe without meaning to.

“Shhh,” TJ soothes. He needs to get up and get the lube in their bedside table drawer, but he doesn’t feel right walking away from Tim right now. So he tries to reach across him, holding himself up with one arm again over Tim’s body, and stretching the other towards the drawer.

“Shit,” he curses as he loses his balance, tumbling all over Tim’s elongated form. His legs brush Tim’s erection and they both hiss. “Fuck.” TJ scrambles now and just grabs the shit, feeling clumsy and slightly horrified that he’s fucking this up for Tim, but when he looks down at his man from the side of the bed, Tim’s just grinning right up at him.

“I love you,” he says, so slowly, like it’s some sort of new realization, and not what they’ve been telling each other for months now.

TJ’s floored somehow. It feels like a long moment passes between them until TJ shakes himself and smiles. He climbs back between Tim’s legs and says, “That’s great, Tim, because I love you too. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

TJ pours a generous amount of lube on his fingers and nudges Tim’s legs further apart. “Knees up for me, baby,” he says, all business now.

“Yes, TJ,” Tim mumbles. TJ grins as he traces a light circle around Tim’s puckered hole. Lately, they’ve gotten into a familiar rhythm. TJ can stretch Tim to readiness pretty quickly and vice versa. But now, he knows he needs to take this slow, make it different, longer, fuller, everything more and better. He knows he can do that. For Tim.

Tim’s knees lift higher as TJ teases him, he pushes down, and TJ hushes him again. “Patience, baby.”

“ _Please_ , TJ.”

TJ slips his first finger inside. He works that finger slowly as Tim moans his name, bearing down with each stroke. “More, TJ, please,” he begs. “I’m gonna, I want--”

“Don’t come, Timmy,” TJ tells him. “Did I tell you you could come yet?”

“Ngh,” Tim almost growls, shaking his head. His knuckles are stark white around the headboard. “Nn, TJ.”

“That’s right, baby. You’re doing so well. Everything I wanted. You’re so good, Tim. Really.” He slips another finger inside, curling both up, finding the sweet spot--there.

“Ahh!” Tim cries out. He bucks up under TJ’s hands. He babbles something inarticulate, curses and TJ’s name all jumbled up with more pleas for mercy. His head is thrown back, his chest heaving. He’s motherfucking glorious.

“Tim, look at me, baby,” TJ demands, his finger working faster now. “You’re so good, baby. So pretty. Come on now. Look at me.”

Tim’s head comes up. His eyelids are half-closed, his pupils so wide, they’re almost black. He looks debauched, wild, and beautiful. He tries to smile and moans again.

“Perfect,” TJ breathes. “Now, come for me.” He turns and presses two, swift, open-mouthed kisses against Tim’s quivering thighs. He leans forward, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim’s and breathes on his taint and balls. “Now, baby.”

And Tim explodes.

TJ’s ready. He keeps his fingers moving. He holds on, maybe to bruising, to Tim’s hip. He doesn’t stop until Tim’s orgasm is finished and he’s panting, staring up at the ceiling, all his muscles relaxing into heaviness.

TJ slips his fingers out of Tim’s stretched hole and sits back on his haunches, staring at him. “Holy shit,” TJ cries. He’s not entirely sure he even wants to touch his dick right now, he’s so hard. He thinks it might hurt.

Tim’s still looking at the ceiling. He hasn’t let go of the headboard either.

“Tim,” TJ croaks. “Tim, baby. I think--I think we’re done now. You can let go.”

Tim does, responding immediately to TJ’s words. He lifts them, his hands, and stares at them too, turning them carefully over to see both sides. The insides of his palms have large indentations in them, red and angry looking as the blood rushes back into his flesh. Tim lifts his head and languidly, gracefully, and props himself up on his forearms again. He blinks at TJ like he barely recognizes him.

Then he blinks again, his eyes dropping to TJ’s aching problem.

He frowns, almost wounded, as though TJ’s lied to him. “We’re not done,” he accuses in a soft tone.

TJ doesn’t know what to say. Goddamn, he needs to fucking come. Still isn’t sure he can, or wants to.

“Tell me,” Tim says quietly.

“I-I don’t know.” TJ says, his voice shaking. He realizes too that his hands are shaking. “I d-don’t--”

“Okay,” Tim says slowly and smiles. He seems almost preternaturally calm. “Come here.”

But it’s Tim that moves. With the same grace he used to sit up, he curls his legs underneath his body and propels himself forward. He picks the bottle of lube up as though it’s just an afterthought and spreads a dollop across his still flushed palm. He sits down cross-legged and close to TJ, who feels strangely paralyzed, and wraps a strong arm around TJ’s waist, pulling him to Tim’s lap.

TJ hisses when Tim’s hand closes around his cock. “Fuck,” he cries, all his muscles stiffening in protest. “Tim, I don’t--”

“Shh,” Tim says into his ear. “We’ll go slow, okay?”

TJ makes a mewling noise of assent and then Tim’s kissing him. Tim kisses him messily, slowly burning, eliciting low groans from both of them, until TJ’s not thinking about that sharp ache. He’s suffused with heat. It’s coming from everywhere, pulsing all through him. Tim’s tongue is turning him inside out. Distantly, he’s not even sure he knew Tim could kiss like this.

And all the while, Tim is slowly jerking him, subtly pressing, carressing. It feels all at once like too much and not enough.

And then it is. It’s everything. It’s happening.

TJ cries out into Tim’s mouth and Tim is pulling him through it, murmuring nonsense into his ear, saying things are beautiful and magical and calling Christ down from heaven. Or something. TJ’s vision greys out and he might be drooling, but everything seems so hot and wet and wonderful. He smiles, blissed out like they just fucked for a year.

Tim lays them both down on the bed, which is turning cold and kind of sticky, but TJ doesn’t care. He giggles madly and says, “God, I fucking love you.”

Tim’s sated calm seems to have slipped a bit and he staring at TJ, more than a little shell-shocked. “Holy shit,” he says. “Holy shit, that just happened.”

TJ giggles again. “Yeah,” he replies, petting Tim’s hair. “Oh my God.”

Tim just keeps staring at him until TJ huffs, continuing to pet him, “‘Member how I said it would be fine?”

TJ’s tracing the line of his jaw when Tim grumbles. “Yeah.”

“Still fine, baby. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Tim smiles, a softness entering his expression. “More than fun. It--I can’t even tell you, TJ. Thank you.”

“Shut up,” TJ whispers. He leans forward to brush their lips together, chastely, so different from before. “We can do everything you want to. I liked it. Couldn’t you tell?”

It’s Tim’s turn to giggle and maybe it’s a little hysterical, but TJ’s having a hard time caring. He wants to keep touching Tim. He slides his hands across Tim’s arms. “You gonna be sore?”

Tim shrugs. “It won’t be bad. And...whenever I feel it. It’ll make me think of you.”

TJ grins. He’s feeling tired now, but so nice. “You say the sweetest things,” he mumbles.

He wakes up sometime later to a hardening mess of sheets and come. He’s cold and naked, clearly, though Tim is still warm beside him. “Aw, fuck,” he says and Tim stirs a little, groaning. They drag each other into the shower, leaning their bodies together, touching and moving casually in each other’s space.

Tim kisses the back of TJ’s neck as he leaves the bathroom, clad only in a towel. TJ walks out naked when Tim calls, “I think you got a text,” as he starts pulling the sheets off the bed.

“The maid service should be in right now,” TJ tells him. He bends over the side of the bed and picks up his discarded jeans, digging for his phone in his back pocket.

Tim scoffs. “You want them to see this?” he asks, then doesn’t wait for an answer. He probably knows TJ doesn’t really care. It’s a maid service. “Anyway, I can do it.”

TJ shrugs. “Suit yourself.” The text is from Nana. He opens it and makes a choking noise. 

It reads, _Are you finished now? I came home to a mess downstairs and you two yelling your lungs out. Come downstairs and eat all this Chinese food I ordered you_

“What?” Tim says.

“We’ve been summoned,” TJ replies, passing Tim the phone.

Tim sits down on the gross sheets, still in his towel, as he reads it. He wipes a hand across his face. “We’ve got to get back to house-hunting,” he says.

TJ groans and pulls on his jeans. His eyes catch on the headboard. He can see evidence of Tim’s fingers still, in sweaty smudge marks from his too hard grip. The wood he’d been holding onto looked too thick to do so comfortably. He’d have to remember to ask Tim later if his hands hurt. It would be bad if their fooling around messed with his trigger finger at work on Monday.

Tim touched his arm. He’d stopped, mid-motion in pulling his t-shirt on. TJ looked over to see that Tim was already dressed.

“Okay?” Tim asked him frowning.

TJ smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Better than. Really.” He pulled on his shirt and turned with Tim towards the door. “I was just thinking, we could get a new bed… when we get the new place.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder at TJ, moving to the stairs. “Oh yeah?”

TJ grinned wickedly. “Fuck yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to thornfield girl, for her help!


End file.
